She’d never worried about opening her door at any time, day or night, until rather recently. Now she stood and stared at it, wishing that there were a window in the door.
“Of course, if there was, whoever it was would see you standing here, talking to yourself,” she muttered to herself. Taking a deep breath, she pulled the door open.
“Inspector Rockwell, how lovely to see you,” she said, smiling delightedly at her visitor.
The man on the doorstep smiled back. “Surely, after all this time, you can call me John?” he asked as she ushered him inside.
Bessie grinned. “Sometimes you look more official than others,” she told him. “Tonight you look quite inspectorial, if that’s a word.”
“I’ve just come from an entire day of meetings,” John replied. “I almost stopped home to change, but I wanted to see you and I was afraid that if I did stop at home I might not want to go back out again.”
Bessie smiled. John was a very handsome man in his early forties. He had brown hair and stunning green eyes that Bessie was certain were natural. He’d lost weight recently, as he worked his way through his relationship troubles, but Bessie was pleased to see him looking more like his old self tonight. The expensive suit he was wearing fit him well, although Bessie fancied that she could see tension in shoulders and his eyes were tired.
“You should have gone home and changed and gone to bed,” Bessie scolded the man. “You look tired.”
“Moving is hard work,” John replied. “And the kids are coming next weekend, so I’ve been cleaning a lot as I go, not to mention shopping.”
Bessie nodded. John was in the middle of moving from a small rental property into a renovated home in the same neighbourhood. Sue, his wife, had taken most of their furniture back to Manchester, where she’d moved with the pair’s two children after she’d filed for divorce. Now John was trying to furnish his new home as inexpensively as possible on his far from generous police salary.
“I’m so glad that Thomas and Amy are going to be able to join us for Thanksgiving,” Bessie said. “It’s always nice to have children there.”
“I’m not sure you’ll want Amy at the moment,” John said with a catch in his voice.
“What’s wrong with Amy?”
“She’s taking the divorce badly,” John explained. “And she seems to think it’s all my fault, even though her mother is the one who, ah, never mind.”
“Children can’t possibly understand all of the things that go into a marriage or why marriages fail,” Bessie said.
“And I can’t exactly tell my daughter that her mother never really loved me, she just married me because the man she did love didn’t want to marry her,” John added.
“Perhaps you can tell her, one day, when she’s much older,” Bessie said.
“If I survive her teens, you mean.”
“I thought she was only twelve,” Bessie said.
“She’ll be thirteen in February,” John replied. “But she’s definitely behaving like a teenager. Worse, actually, Thomas is nearly fifteen and nowhere near as much trouble.”
“I’m sure she misses you,” Bessie suggested.
“I miss them both terribly,” John replied. “But my career is here now and I can’t afford to get that wrong.”
“And they’ll be here for Thanksgiving,” Bessie said.
“They will. I just hope they’re both on their best behaviour.”
Bessie laughed. “We used to have thirty or more for dinner every year when I was a child,” she told him. “There was always a fight, someone always had too much to drink, and at least one of the teens always shouted that they hated everyone at some point in the day.”
John grinned. “That sounds like a family occasion.”
“But you didn’t come to talk to me about Thanksgiving,” Bessie guessed. “What can I really do for you?”
“I spent half an hour with Anna hearing about what she found on the Clague farm. I was hoping you might be able to fill in some background before tomorrow.”
“Are you taking over the case?” Bessie asked, holding her breath while she waited for his reply.
John hesitated and then shrugged. “Let’s say Anna and I are sharing the responsibility for this one,” he said. “While she’s meant to be doing much of the paperwork associated with running the station, she does want to keep her hand in in terms of investigative work as well.”
Bessie frowned, but nodded. “I suppose that makes sense,” she said. “But let me make some tea and then we can talk about everything.”
While Bessie refilled the kettle and switched it on, she had a sudden thought. “I haven’t heard anything from Doona,” she said. “I’m surprised she didn’t ring me once she left the farm.”
“She’s at the station,” John told her. “Anna asked her to go in and start digging out missing person reports.”
“But it’s her day off,” Bessie argued.
“I’m sure she’ll get paid for any overtime,” John replied. “Obviously, we’re anxious to get the remains identified as quickly as possible.”
“Of course,” Bessie agreed. She poured the tea and set a plate of biscuits down in front of her guest.
“Ah, this is a treat. I didn’t have time to eat this evening.”
Bessie pulled the plate away from him. “Then you need something a good deal more substantial than biscuits,” she said.
John tried to protest, but Bessie ignored him as she dug through her cupboards and refrigerator. “I have some chicken breasts, if you’d like me to fix one quickly. Everything else will take too long, I think. Otherwise, I can do some tinned soup and toast.”
“Soup would be fine,” John replied. “It’s perfect for a cold and damp night.”
Bessie opened a tin and poured the contents into a pan. She set the pan on the heat and then pulled down a toast rack. When the bread was in the toaster, she turned back to John.
“So, what can I tell you about the Clague family?” she asked.
“Anything and everything, really,” John told her. “I’ve never actually met any of them. That’s my first job tomorrow. I’m going to drive up to the farm in the morning and talk with Mr. and Mrs. Faragher.”
“Is Eoin back?” Bessie asked. “Fenella said he was across for some medical tests or something.”
“He flew back late this afternoon, which was as scheduled. Fenella insisted that we not tell him anything about what was happening over here until he returned, which, considering the age of the remains, seemed a reasonable request. Anna stayed at the farm to have a quick chat with him when he got home, but according to her, he was simply shocked and confused by the news. Our first job is figuring out how long the remains have been there, of course.”
Bessie nodded. “The farm has been in the family for hundreds of years,” she said. “When I moved back to the island, Niall Clague and his wife Marion had just taken over the farm. I remember when Fenella was born. Marion was very poorly after and I’m not sure she ever properly recovered. She passed away a few years later and left poor Niall to bring up Fenella on his own.”
John nodded. “This is exactly what I need,” he told her. “The more background you can provide, the better.”
Bessie slid slices of toast into the toast rack and set it on the table next to John. She added the butter dish and a jar of strawberry jam to the table and the poured hot soup into a bowl. John was already halfway through his first piece of toast when Bessie set the bowl in front of him.
“Go on,” he encouraged her after he’d swallowed a bite.
“I didn’t see them more than once or twice a year,” Bessie said. “Like most of the farmers, they kept to themselves, really. Fenella went to school here in Laxey, but I suspect she missed as many days as she attended. Book learning wasn’t really a priority for farmers’ wives in those days.”
“When did Eoin arrive in the area?” John asked.
“He grew up on a nearby farm,” Bessie said. She frowned as she
struggled to remember. “His father was the livestock manager for the Kelly farm, which was just to the north of the Clagues. I think he retired back across when Matthew Kelly sold the farm. He didn’t like the new owners or they didn’t like him, one or the other.”
“But Eoin stayed here?”
“Oh, yes, he and Fenella were married by then. They started seeing one another almost as soon as Fenella turned eighteen, and were married by the time she was twenty.”
“No children?”
“No, they were never blessed with children,” Bessie said. “I’m sure Fenella wanted them, but it just never happened.”
“I know Fenella was an only child; what about Eoin?”
“He has a brother, Nicholas. I actually asked Fenella about him today. Apparently he’s happily settled across with a wife and some children.”
“Just the one brother?”
“Just the one,” Bessie confirmed. “I didn’t know the families well, but I knew them well enough to know they didn’t have any more children than that.”
“No chance either family was hiding a mentally ill relative in a disused barn?”
Bessie shook her head. “First of all, they couldn’t have kept such a thing secret, and besides, there is no such thing as a disused barn on Manx farms. The one where the body was found was being used for storage, even back then. It was used for farm machinery for many years, until Marion passed. Then Niall packed up all of her things and moved them to the barn.”
“What year was that?”
“Nineteen-forty, I believe,” Bessie replied. “You’ll have to check the records, but it was around then. Fenella was two or three, so I think that’s about right.”
“So who have we found?” John asked.
Bessie stared at him. “Is that a serious question?” she asked. “Because if it is, I have no idea.”
John frowned. “It was a serious question,” he told her. “The last time we found a skeleton, you were able to put a name to it almost immediately.”
“In that context, it seemed the most likely answer,” Bessie said. “But for this, I have no idea. I don’t remember anyone going missing from up there. They’ve had any number of farmhands over the years, of course, but I don’t recall any disappearing suddenly.”
“What about anyone who might have caused trouble?” John asked. “Maybe someone who was caught stealing something or mistreating the animals?”
Bessie shook her head. “Oh, whenever I was there Niall or Eoin would often have a good moan about the quality of the help they could get,” she said, thinking back. “The farmhands never worked hard enough or fast enough to make them happy. But I certainly don’t recall any serious problems with any of them. I’m going to give it some thought, though, that’s for sure.”
“It sounds like you weren’t already considering that possibility,” John said, his tone curious.
“It was the watch,” Bessie replied. “I just glanced at it, but it looked as if it might have been valuable. Farmhands don’t own such things.”
“Maybe the dead man stole it,” John suggested.
“Then why bury it with him?” Bessie asked.
“Why bury him with it anyway?” John retorted. “Assuming someone killed the man, why not take the watch?”
“Perhaps it was too distinctive,” Bessie suggested. “Maybe the watch will be the key to identifying the remains.”
“I certainly hope so,” John told her.
“You’re talking about the remains as male; does that mean you’re sure it was a man?”
“As sure as we can be at this point. The coroner’s preliminary examination of the remains suggests a young male, somewhere between eighteen and thirty, but that could change after a more thorough exam. It took most the day to carefully dig up what’s there. He barely got a look at it before we called it a night.”
“Has Doona had any luck with the missing person reports?”
“Not so far,” John told her. “She’s found several that might be relevant, but it was a long time ago and the records aren’t exactly complete. We’ll have a few constables ringing all over the island and across in the next few days trying to track people down, but we have to hope the watch will help.”
“What about clothing?”
“Nothing significant was left,” John told her. He opened his mouth to say something else, but Bessie held up a hand.
“I think I’d rather not know,” she said.
John nodded. “If there were anything to tell you, I would, but you don’t need all of the details that amount to nothing.”
John had finished his soup, and now Bessie cleared away the bowl and replaced it with the plate of biscuits. John grinned at her and took several. She handed him a small plate to put them on.
“Did you have any more questions for me?” Bessie asked.
“Oh, several,” John replied. “Tell me about Niall, to start with.”
Bessie frowned. “He lives in a care home in Douglas now,” she told him. “He suffers from dementia of some sort. I’m not sure of the exact diagnosis, but he’s been there for many years now.”
“So interviewing him about the body might not be very helpful,” John said with a sigh.
“Even if he told you something, I don’t think you could trust it to be true,” Bessie said sadly. “I went to visit him over the summer and he didn’t have any idea who I was. He, well, it’s just very sad.”
“I think I’ll leave him for Anna, then,” John said. He looked at Bessie and then winked. Bessie hid a smile behind a chocolate biscuit. Perhaps John was finding Anna as difficult to work with as Doona was.
“So what else can I tell you?” Bessie asked.
John glanced at the clock and shook his head. “I don’t want to keep you all night,” he said. “Until we can get a better idea of when our victim died, I’m not sure there’s much else you can tell me. I’m sure I’ll need a lot more background after that.”
“You know where to find me,” Bessie said with a grin.
“I do,” John agreed. He stood up and then sat back down. “How’s Doona?” he asked.
“Surely you saw her today,” Bessie replied in confusion.
“I did, but at work, when we were both focussed on other things. I was just wondering how she’s dealing with everything that happened last month.”
“I think she’s getting through it all,” Bessie said slowly. “I’m sure she’ll feel better when all of the legal issues are sorted, of course.”
“And she might end up being quite wealthy,” John added.
“She’s engaged a solicitor across,” Bessie told him. “He’s coming over to meet with her on Friday to discuss things.”
“I wish she’d told me the truth about her divorce,” John said.
“That makes two of us,” Bessie replied. “But I know she did it to avoid talking and thinking about it rather than to mislead anyone.”
John nodded and then shrugged. “We’re, well, things are a bit awkward between us at the moment, but I’m glad she’s okay. Please let me know if she needs anything.”
Bessie bit back a dozen replies and settled for simply nodding. John stood up and walked to the door. As Bessie joined him to let him out, she had a thought.
“I still have that painting,” she reminded him. A few months earlier she’d been given a painting of Laxey Beach that she adored. She hadn’t wanted to accept the gift, as the painting was expensive and the giver wasn’t someone she wanted to feel indebted to. Now the man who’d given her the painting was on the run from the police and Bessie really didn’t feel right keeping it.
“Ah, I forgot to tell you,” John said. “There is going to be an auction at the weekend. It will be well advertised now that we’ve received clearance to hold it. Many of Grant Robertson’s things are going to be auctioned off and all of the proceeds are going into a fund to reimburse the people he stole from over the years.”
“What a good idea,” Bessie said.
“Yes,
well, it took some considerable time to get it organised, but it’s set for Saturday, I think.”
“The painting should be included,” Bessie said.
“The painting was given to you before witnesses,” John countered. “It’s legally yours.”
“It was purchased with stolen money,” Bessie told him. “I don’t feel right keeping it under the circumstances. I’ll probably come to the auction and bid on it, though, as I do love it.”
John shook his head. “Just keep it,” he urged her.
“I can’t,” Bessie said softly. “It simply isn’t right.”
Before John could argue further, Bessie went upstairs and got the painting from where she’d stored it in a spare bedroom. It was still wrapped up, as it had been when Grant had given it to her.
“Here, I’ll sleep better tonight with it out of my house,” she told John.
John took the bulky package from her. “Maybe I’ll buy it for you,” he said.
“You just bought a house,” Bessie replied. “I think you have enough expenses without adding to them on my behalf. I’ll talk to my bank manager and see how much I can afford to spoil myself with before I go.”
“I’ll probably be back tomorrow,” John told her. “After I talk to Eoin and Fenella, I’m sure to have many more questions.”
“I should be home most of the day,” Bessie replied. “I don’t have any plans for tomorrow.”
“Lucky you,” John said lightly.
Bessie shut the door behind him and checked that it and the backdoor were locked tightly. She washed up the dishes and then switched off the lights, taking a moment to turn off the ringer on her phone as well. She’d decided a few years earlier that she was too old to be racing down the stairs in the middle of the night for a wrong number. It was one of her very few concessions to her age.
Upstairs she got ready for bed and then propped herself on pillows and read for a short while. When she switched off the lights and slid down under the duvet she found her mind racing. How did someone come to be buried on the old Clague farm, seemingly unnoticed for so many years? She felt a curious mixture of dread and excitement as she finally fell asleep.
Aunt Bessie Invites (An Isle of Man Cozy Mystery Book 9) Page 5